


His Words

by DustToDust



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 19:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3907102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustToDust/pseuds/DustToDust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bar has an open mike, and Pietro finds something interesting to keep him coming back regularly enough his face is recognized instantly now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Words

**Author's Note:**

> Singer AU, because why not?

"I'm heading out!" Pietro calls out to his sister as he stands by the door to their apartment.

"Tell me you won't be coming back later tonight," Wanda demands almost immediately, her eyes laughing over the book she's supposed to be reading even as Pietro pulls on his shoes. "You're going past the point of pitiful, and into stalker territory, brother."

"I am not-!" Pietro bites off his own words and ignores his sister's laughter as he reaches for his jacket. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Don't hurt yourself studying."

The cuts off Wanda's laughter as Pietro makes a show of stomping off in a huff. He does know exactly what she's talking about, and it's more than a bit embarrassing to admit to it even if it is nice to see Wanda lightening up. She's been far too stressed lately with finals looming, and some of the advanced courses she's taking stretching her grasp of the English language. She's better at picking up on it than Pietro is, but the end of the semester is the worst time to be expanding her vocabulary.

Pietro's gotten used to heading out for a few hours when the books come out just to give her uninterrupted time to study with no distractions. Going out for a long walk that's led to him finding new places, and --more importantly-- new people.

His feet move without Pietro's conscious input. Taking him away from the stores and apartments he usually explores when going out. The street he finds himself on isn't the most active despite having a few bars. They're quiet places. Comfortable things where people expect to eat as much as drink when they relax at the end of the day, and Pietro's been very pleased with his discovery of them.

The bar halfway down the block has no sign, and Pietro hasn't figured out if it really is unnamed or not yet. The lights are already dimmed when he steps into the slightly crowded place, but there's no music playing yet which means he's not late. Pietro slides up to the bar where a bottle is already being pulled out for him by the bartender who'd started recognizing him on sight two weeks ago. 

"Standing room only," the man says as he flicks a strand of hair out of his eyes. His words colored with an accent that Pietro's mostly sure places him as a Russian immigrant though he hasn't dared ask. "Stark advertized."

He spits out the name and last word with contempt even though Pietro has no idea who or what Stark is. He agrees with the sentiment though, because his normal table is taken and the only spot Pietro finds is almost on the stage itself and has to be fought over with sharp elbows and a glare.

Pietro spends several minutes establishing a spot for himself against the wall. Mostly to keep a bunch of strangers from crowding him, and more than a little to keep himself occupied so he doesn't act like the stalker that Wanda's accused him of being more than once. He's right by the stage after all, and if he doesn't keep his eyes busy he's going to end up staring at the man setting up on it. The man's a regular. Not the only musician that plays in the small bar, but he's the only one Pietro makes it a habit to come listen to. The man's name is Clint as far as Pietro's been able to learn from eavesdropping shamelessly, but he's heard enough other names get tossed around that he's not willing to bet on it.

He's wearing short sleeves which should be illegal with the kind of muscles on him. His electric blue eyes focused on sorting out a mess of cables that hook the microphone up to the speaker system. Something that's normally not needed, but tonight there's enough of a crowd that it is necessary. His worn guitar is already out and waiting, propped up on the stool as the speakers squeal just a bit when they connect.

The noise is enough excuse to be looking when Clint turns to give the bar a crooked smile. "Sorry 'bout that. Been a while since we needed to use this thing," the last words come out way too loud before he adjusts something on the microphone. "Yeah, ok, got that right. Hey, Bucky! This an alright volume?"

There's a shout from the bar area before the man steps back and picks up his guitar. His fingers play over the strings a bit before he reaches out for the microphone again. Adjusting it so it's about chest height. His next grin is warm and makes Pietro's mouth go dry even though the gaze that sweeps across the bar doesn't reach him.

It doesn't matter much though because in the next moment the man's singing. His voice low and burred as his fingers pull a simple melody from the guitar. Not as loud as Pietro is used to, there's too many people still talking but it's good he's right next to the stage. He doesn't have to hurt anyone to hear.

Clint's not the best singer, and it's clear he does this as a hobby more than anything. Pietro still finds himself entranced regardless. The songs are something that swings between country, rock, and blues. Sometimes even in the same song. It's a strangely comfortable mix that infects the bar as Clint sings. 

Mostly covers but Pietro catches the awkward hunch of a shoulder that precedes an original one. There's more thrown into the mix than usual, and Pietro smiles around his long empty bottle to hear them. Even if he's being forced to play them it's still nice to hear.

Even better to see.

Clint doesn't move much when he's playing. He doesn't have the restless energy of some of the other musicians, but there's plenty to watch anyway. Pietro's been mesmerized more than one night by the play of muscles from bicep to forearm as Clint plays. The way his shirt bares them and stays tight to his shoulders make that show all the more distracting. Almost enough to distract Pietro from the way Clint's face goes light and happy when he's singing his original songs. He smiles with the covers, but it's easy to tell when the shouted requests are boring him. Pietro likes it best when the man's enjoying himself.

Pietro stares a bit more than he usually does because the bar is packed, and there's more than enough to keep Clint's attention occupied for once. He feels safe that he won't be caught outright staring tonight. So he looks his fill.

Clint sings later than usual, but Pietro only notices the time when the crowd thins enough that he can ease away from the wall and snag a chair. Not enough to want to risk going back to the bar for another drink though despite how dry his throat is. There's still too much talking and Pietro doesn't want to miss a single note of the singing. He sticks it out because as dry as he feels, Clint has to be worse.

A thought that proves true when the song ends and Clint stands with a smirk. "Sorry, folks but that's all I've got in me tonight. Nice having a big crowd around to hear it."

There's a smattering of applause and the volume picks up as soon as Clint switches the microphone off and disappears into the crowd. Headed towards the bar which is still too crowded.

Pietro debates following as always. An idea that he plays with each time the set ends. Clint's a handsome man, and Pietro's more than interested. A goood looking body and nice voice isn't enough to overcome his reservations at approaching a complete stranger though. Picking people up in bars without knowing something about them first just isn't something he does. No matter how gorgeous their eyes are.

He's still debating going to the bar --just for another beer-- over going home to Wanda's inevitable teasing when the second chair at the table gets kicked out and taken before he can say anything.

"This seat taken?" Clint asks with a smile that's all charm and smarm. He offers out a second bottle, cap still firmly on, before Pietro can say something about the blatant assumption. "Here, I'm not above bribing you for it. Bucky says this is your preferred brand."

Pietro accepts the bottle reluctantly. Eyes flicking to the bar but it's still too crowded and he doesn't see the bartender. "That is more than a little worrying."

"Why? You're one of about ten people he can count on to drain down his reserves on this shitty stuff," Clint says as he takes a pull of the bottle he got for himself. He grimaces comically and Pietro snorts at his bad sense of taste. Americans are far too fond of their watered down beers. "Plus, as my number one fan, he feels like I need to know these kinds of things about you."

The bottle cap goes a little wild when Pietro fumbles it off with an awkward jerk against the edge of the table. He's surprised and more than a bit embarrassed again at the statement. "Fan? Maybe, but I am hardly your number one anything."

Clint laughs and it's a low sound. Hoarse enough from his night of singing that it sends shivers through him, and Pietro can feel all his carefully constructed reasons for not following the man to the bar falling apart.

"Yeah, that's a damn lie, and everyone knows it. You haven't missed a single night I've played since you started coming by a month ago," Clint's eyes seem to glow with laughter as they pin Pietro to his seat. Disturbed that he'd been noticed that long ago. "Even the nights when I'm not supposed to be playing, you always show up within a few minutes. Even I had to notice that eventually."

"Listening to you play is an experience," Pietro says honestly and then smirks as he settles back down. "One of disbelief and wonder that a human being can make those kinds of sounds without dying. I keep coming back to see if I can figure out when you're going to fall over."

Clint's smile falters a little as he sputters with laughter. Beer dripping down the side of his face before he can cough and wipe it off. He leans against the table on his elbows and grins broadly over at Pietro. "Really?" The disbelief drips off his voice. "Well that's a damn shame then. I've been working up the nerve to go half in on a platter of wings, and an hour or two of talking with the really cute guy that's been practically stalking me for a week now. To see if asking him out on an actual date'd be worth it. But if you're not really interested...."

"I think I can accept some food," Pietro cuts in with a scowl even as Clint half rises from his seat. A mocking grimace of regret on his face that melts into a yelp when Pietro kicks out under the table. The force light but enough to get him sitting back down. Pietro raises one eyebrow in challenge at him. "We'll see about anything else."

Clint grins and resettles back down. "Great, because I've already ordered and it'd kind of suck to get walked out on now. So, let's get started. I'm Clint Barton, you come here often?"

"Unfortunately," Pietro offers and relaxes back a bit, because this is not a date. He's not picking some stranger up in the bar. He's sitting here and talking to a man he does in fact know a little bit about. Maybe it will lead somewhere more, and maybe it won't. Either way, he'll be going home tonight with something guaranteed to stop Wanda's exasperated teasing. "I'm Pietro Maximoff."

"Nice to meet you, Pietro," his name sounds nice coming from Clint's mouth, and Pietro feels like this might actually lead to something better than he's been thinking.


End file.
